Mercy Thompson 01-05 - THE MERCY THOMPSON COLLECTION

like you,” she said to me. “You play an underhanded and subtle game—and like Coyote, you shake up the order of the world.” She laughed. “Coyote indeed. Good for you. Good for you. I don’t know what else you’ll run into—but I’ll let the Others know what they are dealing with.” She tapped the walking stick on the floor twice. Then, almost to herself, she murmured, “Perhaps…perhaps this won’t be a disaster after all.”
    She raised the staff up and touched the top end to her forehead in a salute. Then she took a step forward and disappeared from the reach of any of my senses between one moment and the next.

chapter 9
    Wednesday night I ate dinner at my favorite Chinese place in Richland then drove out to Tim’s house. Since O’Donnell’s killer was almost certainly fae, I didn’t know how much good it would do me to attend a Bright Future meeting—but maybe someone would know something important. I only had until Friday to prove Zee innocent or Tad would be putting his life on the line, too.
    The more time I had to think about it, though, the more sense it made for Tad to come back. I certainly wasn’t getting any nearer to figuring out anything. Tad, being fae, could go to the reservation and ask questions—if the Gray Lords didn’t kill him for his disobedience. Maybe I could persuade Nemane that it was in the fae’s best interest that Zee’s son come home to help me save his father. Maybe.
    Tim’s address was in West Richland, a few miles from Kyle’s. It was in a block so new that several houses didn’t have lawns yet, and I could see two buildings under construction on the next block over.
    Half of the front was beige brick and the rest was adobe the color of oatmeal. It looked upscale and expensive, but it was missing the touches that made Kyle’s house a mansion rather than a house. No stained glass, no marble or oak garage doors.
    Which meant that it was still several orders of magnitude nicer than my old trailer even with its new siding.
    There were four cars parked in the driveway and a ’72 once-red Mustang with a lime green left fender parked on the street in front. I pulled in behind it because it’s not often I find a car that makes the Rabbit look good.
    As I got out of the car, I waved at the woman who was peering out at me from behind a sheer curtain in the house across the street. She jerked a window shade down.
    I rang the doorbell and waited for the stocking-footed person who was hopping down a carpeted staircase to open the door. When it opened, I wasn’t surprised to see a girl in her late teens or very early twenties. Her footsteps had sounded like a woman—men tend to clomp, thunder, or like Adam, move so silently you can barely hear them.
    She was dressed in a thin T-shirt that sported crossed bones, like a pirate flag, but instead of a human skull it boasted a faded panda head with exes for eyes. She was a little overweight, but the extra pounds suited her, rounding her face and softening her strong features. Under the distinctive aura of Juicy Fruit, I recognized her scent from O’Donnell’s house.
    â€œI’m Mercy Thompson,” I told her. “Tim invited me.”
    She looked me over with sharp eyes and then gave me a welcoming smile. “I’m Courtney. He said you might be coming. We’re not started yet—still waiting for Tim and Austin to get back with goodies. Come on in.”
    She was one of those women cursed with a little girl’s voice. When she was fifty, she’d still sound like she was thirteen.
    As I followed her up the stairs, I did the polite thing. “I’m sorry to intrude on this meeting. Tim told me that one of your members was just killed.”
    â€œCouldn’t have happened to a nicer man,” she said airily, but then stopped on the stair landing. “All right, that didn’t need to be said, sorry. I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
    I shook my head. “I didn’t know him.”
    â€œWell, he started our chapter of Bright Future and he was all right to the guys, but he only had one use for women and I was getting tired of fighting him off all the time.” Her eyes really focused on me for the first time, “Hey, Tim said you were Hispanic, but you aren’t, are you?”
    I shook my head. “My father was an Indian rodeo